


Giving Up

by orphan_account



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Blood, Gen, Grunkle Ford Needs A Hug, Grunkle Stan Needs A Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Knives, Stan O' War II, Stan has depression, Stangst, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 15:48:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10879992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Stan hasn't been taking his medications. One night aboard the Stan O' War II, he gets drunk.





	Giving Up

**Author's Note:**

> Oops look at this angst I wrote, sorry not sorry :')

“Stan?” Ford said carefully, having heard a  _ thump _ from the tiny bathroom, outside which the researcher now stood. “Stan, are you alright in there?” He knocked on the door.

There was no answer. He swallowed and tried again. “Stanley?” He waited some more.

Ford tried to stop his heart from pounding. Everything was fine...probably.

“Stan? I’m coming in.” Ford turned the knob. It wasn’t locked. The door swung open. The room was dim, which was odd. He flicked on the light and immediately his stomach lurched. He almost vomited.

There, on the floor, was Stan. He was crumpled on the floor, pale and limp, and there was a quickly spreading pool of dark red staining the floorboards. Beside him was a knife.

“Stanley!” Ford rasped. His voice suddenly didn’t work. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t look away. His knees buckled as the world began to spin around him.

But his instinct from beyond the portal suddenly grabbed ahold of his consciousness and told him,  _ This is no time for panic. _ Somehow, his crazed mind agreed and he quickly crawled over to Stanley, turning him over onto his back and inspecting him.

He nearly threw up all over again; Stan had apparently tried to slit his own wrists. He’d failed, missing the crucial vein, but Ford still realized that his twin was slowly bleeding out. Without another moment of hesitation he grabbed some towels and pressed them to the terrifying gashes on his brother’s arms.

Then, finally, he allowed himself to break down and cry.

Stanley had tried to kill himself. He’d given up. And that was probably the scariest part.

* * *

Stan’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of Ford’s broken sobbing. “S...Sixer?” he mumbled weakly (everything hurt, what had happened?). “What’re you doin’?”

Ford looked at his brother with a frown (pathetic, large eyes brimming with tears like in a cartoon). “Saving you, y-you kn-knucklehead.”

“Saving me?” Stan lifted his head to look at himself--the blood, the towels, the knife (that knife he’d found on the table and picked it up without knowing why and then walked into the bathroom with it and) “Oh...that’s right.” He let his head fall back again. “Shit.” (What had he done?)

“Stanley, what…” Ford swallowed hard. “Why?” (Why are you leaving me why are you bleeding why are you dying why can’t I help you why can’t I save you why does it hurt me so much)

Stan shrugged as best he could. “Dunno. I got drunk, decided I didn’t want to deal with all this...shit anymore.” He turned his head away, ashamed. “Sorry, Sixer.” (You screwed up you can’t even die right things would’ve been better if you’d just hit the vein you--)

Ford used a blood-coated hand (Stan’s blood on Ford’s hands was this a symbol) to gently turn Stan’s head back to face him again (weak smile meant he was hurting too). “I’m sorry, too. We’ll...we’ll get through this together, okay? No more...knives, or getting drunk, or giving up. Can you promise me that?” (A promise is a promise is a promise and you can’t ever ever break it why promise something if you can’t trust yourself not to break it don’t do it don’t do it don’t--)

(He loves you he loves you he cares all you’ve gotta do is try your hardest all you’ve gotta do is fight)

Stan laughed feebly, his eyes gathering moisture at the corners (won’t cry can’t cry). “Can’t promise about the whole ‘getting drunk’ thing. A man should never meet his maker sober. But...yeah. No more knives. No more giving up.”

And he meant it.

**Author's Note:**

> Leave some kindness below if you enjoyed it!


End file.
